"Oh, Harry!" Hermione threw her arms around Harry and sighed, before holding him at arm's length. "I am so sorry you went through this alone. If you ever need to talk about anything, let me know, okay?"

Although he felt relieved that she was so quick to come around, he feared his sexuality would be the first thing she saw when they spent time together. "I appreciate that, but it's not really my sexual orientation that's concerning me. More a certain blond Slytherin and a thick-headed git who's determined to shun me until I grow out of this."

They spent lunch talking about the books she'd read and he told her the best stories he'd found over the course of the loop and where she could find them.

Hermione was interested and sympathetic, provided they didn't talk too much about him fancying Malfoy, keeping the subject of his angst more general. Ron continued to be little more than a brick wall. In the days following his coming out, Ron avoided changing clothes in the dorm room when Harry was there. At first, Harry didn't notice, thinking Ron was simply making himself scarce. It was a few nights later when all five boys were in the dorm room in their pajamas except for Ron that he made the connection. Midnight had passed, and Ron was still wearing his school uniform. Finally, he got up, grabbed his pajamas, and left the room, muttering something about the bathroom.

Harry hung back for a moment, then followed him. Anger brewed in him like fire in the belly of a dragon, and he knew in a minute he would unleash what was pent up within him.

The bathroom was empty save a single stall, which had a pair of trousers and a button-down shirt draped over its door. Harry ran some water and waited by the sinks until Ron came out in his pajamas.

Ron's face turned bright red upon seeing Harry, but he merely looked away and took the widest possible arc to walk past where Harry stood.

"You can't be serious." If only Ron knew the full irony of his behavior: Dean and Seamus weren't straight, either. "Are you genuinely afraid I'll look at you funny, or are you trying to make a point?"

"Can't it be both?" Ron tightened his grip on his bundle of clothes.

"Look." Harry rubbed his brow, working through what he wanted to say. "I get this is difficult for you. But you're ignoring that it's a hell of a lot more difficult for me. I spent months worrying how people would react, worrying that you'd want to stop being friends. On top of that, it took nearly a year for me to begin to come to terms with my—how I felt, and don't want to relive that with the person who's supposed to be there for me. You haven't got to prove how uncomfortable you are with me, I can tell."

"So I should pretend like nothing's different now?"

"No! That's not what I'm asking, Ron. But all I've gathered over the past few days is that you don't even want to be friends anymore."

"Maybe that's for the best," mumbled Ron.

"Do I really disgust you that much?"

Ron's blinked rapidly at the crack in Harry's voice. "No. But he does." He left the room before Harry could think of a more scathing reply.

Over the weekend, Ron continued to keep his distance, as though Harry were diseased and the air around him were toxic. Hermione did her best to stay on good terms with both of them while also refusing to be their messenger.

"I'm going to the common room to study with Hermione," said Harry through gritted teeth one evening, gathering up his books.

Ron lifted his book closer to his face and said nothing.

"So you're going to go on ignoring me, then? Real mature."

"You want to hear what I think? I've got loads to say."

"Go ahead."

"Fine." Ron put down the book. "I can't bloody believe you're interested in the absolute last person you should consider even being friends with. Malfoy hates Muggleborns, he hates my family, he even hates you. He's proven it time and time again. I wish you could just go back to fancying my sister; at least she was a girl and not evil."

"Voldemort is dead, none of that matters to him anymore. It's in the past."

"Yeah, that's convenient. You can't honestly expect him to change so quickly. Just two weeks ago he was a prick—he was a Death Eater, for Merlin's sake—and he was going to kill Dumbledore."

"He helped us kill Voldemort, didn't he?"

"Whatever. That won't make up for everything else he's done. The Malfoys—they hate my family! How do you suppose that's going to work? Are you planning on bringing him round for dinner and pretending like everything is fine?"

"How do you know you wouldn't have joined Voldemort if your entire family had, and it was the only way you thought you could protect them?"

"I just know! There's always another way!"

The door opened and Hermione entered the room, about to speak, when Ron said to her, "Hermione, please tell Harry how bloody mad he's being."

Hermione hesitated. "Is this about Draco?"

"Oh, great. Now you're calling him 'Draco,' too?"

Hermione sighed and turned reluctantly to Harry. "You know I want to be supportive. But I don't see any way this could end well. If you want to fancy a boy, there are plenty of other options, I'm sure."

Ron crossed his arms. "There's nothing good about him, Harry. Even if there were, it wouldn't make up for everything terrible he has done. Honestly, I still can't believe this isn't a sick joke."

"What part, the fact that I sometimes like blokes, or that I fancy Draco?"

"Both."

"Well, if that's how you feel. Hermione? You're the one who always told me to lay off him, you saw he had the potential to be good."

Hermione glanced at Ron. "Look, Harry, I don't care as much as I should. You went through the time loop, and something obviously changed. I wouldn't say I approve, but—you fancy him, can't you convince us?"

"I think . . . it was meant to happen."

"What do you mean?"

Harry sat down on his bed. "Snape created the time loop because he regretted calling my mum a Mudblood in their fifth year. He was in love with her, but didn't realize it, and after he called her that they no longer had a chance. He was on his way to becoming a Death Eater, so eventually their friendship was bound to end . . ."

Hermione caught on quickly. "Similar to you and Draco, right? For some reason, Snape's curse worked for you."

"I suppose so. Using Sectumsempra—Snape's curse—and the parallel of our situation; something triggered it."

Hermione bit her lip. "Harry, how do you know the curse didn't force you to have feelings for Draco? If it was powerful enough to create the time loop . . ."

"I don't think it could do that. No. It couldn't—I don't feel any different. Not really. Besides, if that were the case, it wouldn't have taken so long. The curse ended once I figured out how to kill Voldemort, when there was a true way he and I could be together. I think that was the point. And it wouldn't have happened without the loop, but that doesn't mean . . ." Harry forced himself to look at them. The color had drained from Ron's face.

Hermione touched Harry's shoulder. "I wouldn't want to lose you over this. And I—we—can't assume we'll never be convinced. It's just . . . a lot to process."

Ron looked at them for a minute, then stood up and left the room without saying a word.

Harry scoffed. "Ron's being a prick. The war's over, things like this shouldn't matter anymore."

"The war being over means things like this can matter. And you know as well as I that just because You-Know-Who is dead doesn't mean there isn't hate to combat, nor that his supporters should get off without consequences."

Harry spent the rest of the day spinning their words in his head. How could he choose his feelings for Draco over his friendships? Or, what kind of friends would force him to make that choice? But also, why would he risk friendships that would last a lifetime for something that could be fleeting?

The next day, Harry used the Marauder's Map to meet Draco in corridor. He touched Draco's fingers as he passed, looking back for a reaction. No one was around, but still they found a more secluded area to talk.

"You should know," said Draco, once they'd sat down, "I'm planning on going to Durmstrang next year."

"What? Why?"

"Plenty of reasons. My family has ties to some of the families there, and it would be good to get away from everything. Not everything—not you, just . . . the past."

"It's your last year of school!"

"I need to figure things out. Who I am."

"You'll have the rest of your life to think about that." The only arguments Harry could think of were selfish: what about me? Can't we figure things out together?

Draco shrugged. "There's a chance I won't go. I don't know. Good luck with your match tomorrow."

And Quidditch—Harry wanted to care more about Quidditch like he used to, but he still found himself distracted. It required extra concentration to locate the glint of gold in the sky. He became so locked in his focus that he only noticed a cluster of people moving on the pitch below when red sparks sizzled between two of them. Shouts began to rise, thinned by the altitude. A fight had broken out. Harry dove toward the ground, gaining speed, until he was suddenly struck by a spell—he couldn't tell from where—and was submerged in darkness.

Harry began to fade into consciousness. His face prickled, and he reached up to brush away the source of the sensation, connecting with something quite solid. His eyes snapped open to see Draco, blushing furiously in embarrassment, his hand retreating.

"Draco. What was all that—"

"Sh . . ." He glanced around.

Exasperated, Harry forced himself to reach for his wand and cast a Muffling Charm despite the dull ache in his arm. "There. Now you can explain what happened."

"Someone—someone cursed you, and you nearly fell to your death, but Professor Snape and Professor McGonagall saved you in time." He paused. "I'm sorry you were hurt."

"Yeah, me too. What about the others? Did we win?" Harry peered down the row of beds, but they were all empty.

"No one else is seriously injured, and Ravenclaw won. I am unsure of the exact details of why the fighting broke out, but apparently a group of Gryffindors accused a group of Slytherins of siding with the Death Eaters. It could have been an excuse to attack you—"

"To try and kill me, you mean."

"Right. After you fell, Cho Chang caught the Snitch, there was a lot of commotion over who was responsible, and anyhow, I wanted to visit you, but it would have been suspicious, so I waited." He rocked from foot to foot. "Are you alright?"

"Fine. I'm not badly injured, at least."

"Good. Well, er, goodnight, then."

"You aren't gonna . . . ?"

He turned back to face Harry. "Going to what?"

"Never mind."

"To stay?"

"Kiss it better."

"You're ridiculous." Draco looked around stiffly, then crossed to the side of the bed and kissed Harry on the forehead. He backed away and was about to leave again when Harry grabbed his wrist.

Draco tugged himself free, averting his gaze. His fingers twitched at his sides, brows stitching together as he grappled with what to do.

"You forget that I nearly died for you."

"I hadn't asked you to do that." Draco still avoided his eyes.

"I'm not saying you owe me. I'm saying I had enough faith in this to take that risk."

Now finally looking at Harry, Draco stepped closer, then stopped, as though he wanted to see Harry squirm.

"What are you waiting for, then?"

Draco didn't reply, he merely shook his head. "Potter, it—it's impossible. If I go to Durmstrang next year—and even if I didn't . . . You have it easy, you saved the Wizarding World, everyone loves you, no one would care . . . It won't work. I can't give you what you want."

"I'm just asking you to kiss me."

"What? Haven't you—haven't you heard what I said?"

"Bloody hell, Draco, why agonize over the future? If you want to kiss me, you should do it."

Draco scoffed. "How presumptuous of you." Still, he took another step and crouched down beside the bed. He stared at Harry, gray eyes on green, and touched his face.

Harry leaned into Draco's fingers, arching his back a bit as he pulled his arms out from under the covers.

Draco leaned closer and kissed Harry's cheek, then the spot next to his mouth, then hovered over his lips, breath warm.

Harry reached up and pulled Draco to him, their lips finally meeting. At first, Draco restrained himself, his fingertips and mouth the only evidence he was there. But he couldn't stay that way, not as Harry's hands gripped his hair, his neck, both of their breathing a bit erratic with the escalation of everything.

It took a moment for Draco to notice the blood. They broke apart and he searched Harry's face, panicked. His shoulders relaxed as he found the source. "Your lip is bleeding."

Harry kept one hand around Draco's neck, wiping his mouth with his other hand. But as he lifted his head as a request to continue, Draco straightened abruptly.

Harry realized why: footsteps had signaled Madam Pomfrey's return.

Madam Pomfrey started when she spotted someone standing by Harry's bed. "Oh! Visiting hours are over, you shouldn't be here! I shall have to tell Filch . . ." Madam Pomfrey's stern face fell as Draco turned around, lip stained with blood. "You—what are you trying to pull, showing up here?"

Harry watched in dismay as emotion receded from Draco's face. "Nothing, I was just leaving."

"Madam Pomfrey," said Harry, and she hurried closer, undoubtedly assuming the worst, "let him go. He's . . . my friend, and he helped defeat Voldemort."

She cringed at the name. "But—"

"There's no reason for us to hate each other anymore." As he said this, Harry met Draco's stare.

Madam Pomfrey raised an eyebrow, then sighed. "Alright. Just this once." She turned to Draco. "Visiting hours are from 8 am to 8 pm, no earlier, no later."

Draco nodded, glanced at Harry, eyes flat, then left.

Harry gritted his teeth in frustration. Initially, he was angry that Madam Pomfrey had interrupted their kiss, but then he processed everything Draco had said, and hot tears collected in his eyes.

Madam Pomfrey went through another round of healing spells and potions before leaving Harry to rest.

Despite the pull of sleep, Harry forced himself to think of a solution. What would Draco need to know to change his mind? What could he do—? Then it hit him.

Harry took his wand from the nightstand and closed his eyes, concentrating. He thought of their embrace after he defeated Voldemort, the sense of joy and completeness he had felt then. The dragon in his stomach purred and warmth lapped through him. "Expecto Patronum!"

A small form emerged from the tip of his wand: not a stag, a fox. Harry willed it to find Draco, and it bounded out of the room.

So his Patronus had changed. Harry lay back on the bed, everything suddenly seeming very loud, from his breath to the wind whistling through a distant window. Surely his feelings for Draco did not exceed infatuation, right? He stared at the ceiling as he mentally replayed the moment between them.

"I see you are still awake."

Harry sat up, heart racing. Snape had entered the room.

"I wished to speak with you, and Madam Pomfrey recommended I wait until after visiting hours to do so."

"Er, alright. Professor, have you seen a Patronus?"

Snape crossed his arms. "Yes, I have. It was a fox, perhaps an arctic fox. Do you know who cast it?"

"I cast it. I wanted to know if it was heading in the direction of the Slytherin Dungeon."

Snape's confused expression deepened. "But your Patronus is a stag. The Weasley girl's, perhaps?"

Harry couldn't bring himself to lie, somehow. Snape frowned and said, "Not her, then."

"It's really none of your business. Sir."

Snape realized what Harry had said. "The Slytherin Dungeon . . . someone from the Slytherin House." His face cleared. "Ah. Well, that is what I came to find out, anyhow. Albus had told me there was a missing element to why you triggered the time loop, but it would only be safe to know after the Dark Lord was killed. He withheld the name, told me it was better you told me at the right time. I understand you may feel it too personal to share the name, but it would help her and her family's case if she helped you."

Harry didn't respond. Dumbledore hadn't known anything about Draco beyond that he had helped give information, why should Snape?

"Potter, if she understood how this could help—"

"He."

"He . . . ?"

"If he understood."

"Who?"

"Draco."

"What about Draco?"

"Draco helped me."

"Everyone is already aware of that. Dumbledore suggested there was something—someone?—more."

Harry considered whether it would be better to lie, then decided he wouldn't be able to pull it off. "There's not. Draco willingly gave me information about the cup. I wanted to help him. It all started when I found out about his plot to kill Dumbledore after using Veritaserum—"

"That potion is highly restricted by the Ministry and improper use is still a serious offense."

Harry gritted his teeth. "It didn't matter. He wouldn't have remembered the next day, and besides—I was stuck. He was stuck. I had to do something, or there couldn't be a chance for him to get out of the mess he was in."

Snape tried to piece together the implications of what Harry said. "You were lying when you said you did not know how you became trapped in time, were you not?"

"I have a theory."

"Let's hear it."

"You told me yourself that after you called my mum a Mudblood, you tried to reverse time, but it didn't work."

"How do you suppose—"

"Dumbledore explained it to me: if someone regretted their actions enough, if there was a moment where they made a choice and it messed up their life . . ."

"What do you believe you did to trigger my curse?"

Harry rubbed the back of his neck. "On the day the loop began, I used a spell from your Potions book, 'Sectumsempra: for enemies.' I was defending myself against Draco. I had found him in the bathroom, he was crying, and saw me, and he attacked me, and I thought . . ."

Snape squeezed the bridge of his nose. "You foolish boy."

"You're the one who made up the spell!"

"I had more reasons to invent such a spell than you had to use it."

"Whatever. It was . . . horrible. Draco split open, almost died . . ."

"But why you?"

"What do you mean?"

"Why did your fear begin the time loop when plenty of other students through the years have regretted their actions?"

"I doubt any of them used a spell you'd created."

"Perhaps there is merit to this theory. And yet the question remains . . . how could your regret be parallel to mine? Perhaps the fear that you could have killed someone or be expelled is enough . . ."

Harry flushed. "Er, it may have been more than that."

Snape looked at him, eyes distant with thought. "What?"

"Nothing," said Harry quickly.

"'More than that.' What do you mean?"

Harry averted his gaze.

Snape stepped closer. "Potter, whose Patronus is a fox?"

"Draco's. Er, I think. I mean, I don't think he can conjure one. But if he could."

Snape didn't say anything for a full minute. As the silence hung in the room, Harry felt anger build inside him. He had considered all possible retorts when Snape finally said, "The Slytherin for whom you have feelings is Draco?"

Harry's response was already boiling over. "Why does it matter? I killed Voldemort, didn't I?"

Snape gawked at Harry. "But obviously he does not have feelings in return."

"Why should I tell you? Besides, he probably wouldn't want you to know."

Snape blinked. "I cannot believe it . . ."

"Well, I don't really care if you believe it or not." Harry tried to look indifferent.

"Had I known in the time loop?"

"I told you once, but didn't stick around to see how you'd react."

"I am not sure how I should react now." Snape chuckled, then laughed openly.

"What, so you think someone from Gryffindor can't be with someone from Slytherin? A little hypocritical, don't you think? I saw your memories, I know how you felt for my mum."

Snape winced. "Disregarding the obvious fact that you and Draco are of the same sex . . . our situations are not nearly the same. Lily and I had been close friends before that unfortunate day, but you and Draco hated each other."

"So you think it's more important to start out on good terms, not end on them? At least I have a chance with him."

Snape turned a deep red-purple color. "Watch your tongue. I sacrificed everything to keep you safe, you ought to be grateful."

"Then why still act like a prick? Voldemort's dead, you don't have to pretend you hate me, or whatever."

Harry and Snape fixed their gazes in opposite directions until Harry became tired of the silence. "So will it help Draco's case that he changed sides at the end? His mother helped with the Horcrux, so I'm assuming she and Lucius will be safe from punishment."

"I do not believe Draco will be imprisoned for what he planned to do. He regrets his involvement with the Dark Lord and because he helped you—we may have to work on his story. I presume he knows about the time loop."

"Yeah."

"The Ministry must not learn that you altered time. With Scrimgeour as Minister—we need not go into extensive detail."

Harry felt a small thrill in his chest and tried to stifle it. "So would Draco still have to go to Durmstrang?"

"Durmstrang? Ah, is that what he told you?"

"What do you mean?"

"He is not coming back to Hogwarts next year, he will be finishing his studies at home."

"What? Then why would he—"

"I do not wish to involve myself in . . . whatever this is. Speak with him yourself." Snape stood. "We shall speak again tomorrow evening, once you have recovered."

"Wait."

Snape paused, still turned away from Harry.

"Was it you, sir? Did you kill Voldemort?"

Harry caught a glimpse of Snape's face, but it revealed nothing to him. "Goodnight, Potter."

"Hang on! Er, look, about everything you did. You know, protecting me, risking your life—I'm grateful. But are you really going to keep on pretending to hate me?"

"Your innocence was spared, and you are alive. So I should owe you nothing more."

"Exactly. I can only forgive you for betraying my parents. I can't forgive you for making your students' lives miserable until you find some way to redeem yourself."

"What I have done . . . cannot be forgiven." Snape's black eyes gleamed, meeting Harry's green eyes as though they would not look at each other again. "Your mother would be proud of you."

As Harry watched Snape slip out of the room, he was left with a mingled sense of bitterness and hope.

The next day, Draco stared at Harry from afar, clearly not listening to Pansy's gossip. He remained expressionless until Pansy poked him, and he sneered, waiting for her to look away before he shot Harry a genuine smile. Had Draco understood what his Patronus meant?

After returning the expression, Harry turned his attention back to what Ron was saying. He had fallen into the habit of filling their time apart with not-so-subtle glances and far too many daydreams. As soon as he could, he asked Draco about his true plans for seventh year.

"According to Snape, you're going to study at home."

"I only told him that because he would not approve of my studying at Durmstrang."

"You're that good at Occlumency that you could lie to him?"

"Not everyone wears their emotions on their sleeve, Potter. My rationale made sense, so it was easy to conceal from him."

"Why wouldn't he approve?"

"Because I'm his favorite student, obviously."

"If he even has a favorite, it would be me."

"Are we talking about the same professor?"

"I mean, he gave up his life for me."

"No, he gave up his life for your mother, but specifically risked his life to protect me."

"Sure, once."

"If you want him, you can have him. I've had quite enough of the pressure he put on me to excel."

"Oh, come on, you had it easy."

Draco ignored this and said, "Well, why do you think he wouldn't approve? Durmstrang is distant, what it teaches is different, and it will be difficult to go there for my final year. He would ignore the positives."

"And those are . . . ?"

"Being away from it all. Out of Hogwarts, out of Britain."

Harry wanted to add, Away from me? Instead, out of fear that Draco would feel claustrophobic, he dropped the subject. If they continued to spend time together, spent the summer together, then maybe Draco would change his mind.

Besides, wouldn't he want to continue Quidditch? Cho, dissatisfied with how Ravenclaw won, proposed hosting an end-of-year scrimmage tournament with mixed-House teams named after the House animals. Harry insisted it wasn't necessary, until Draco mentioned he wanted to play as Seeker one last time, even though half of his team had been pulled out of school. Soon enough, the whole school geared up for the tournament, and the professors all agreed to cancel classes for it. Each match was limited to an hour. After Harry caught the Snitch, the Lions beat the Badgers, and after Draco caught the Snitch, the Snakes beat the Eagles.

The final game of the Lions versus the Snakes took place that afternoon, as the grounds were cast in late-spring gold. Harry tricked Draco a few times into thinking he had spotted the Snitch, entering a sudden dive, just to pull up empty-handed and see the look of frustration on Draco's face. Harry was overwhelmed with the feeling that they were rivals once again, and scolded himself for enjoying it. He now understood the appeal behind Draco's insistence on discretion.

His trick paid off—the next time he dove, he had actually seen the Snitch. It took Draco a minute to realize what was happening, but by that time, Harry's fingers closed quickly around it, to the triumphant cheers of the crowd. Maybe now, to redeem himself, Draco would stay at Hogwarts for his seventh year to captain the Slytherin team and ultimately beat Harry—or at least make an attempt to do so.

"You played well, Draco," said Harry, after he'd waited for the other Slytherins to leave the locker room.

Draco glanced up from the bench, eyes flicking between Harry's exerted expression and the sweat dripping into his shirt collar. "As did you, Potter."

Just by the look of sour concentration on Draco's face, it was clear he had expected to win.

"If you're thinking you won fairly, you're wrong," he said, startling Harry out of his thoughts.

"What? I didn't cheat—"

"I meant you distracted me."

Harry blinked. "Oh. From all the way across the pitch?"

"No." Draco stood up, impatient. "When we shook hands before the match."

"I still haven't the faintest idea what you're referring to."

Sighing, Draco put his equipment away as he explained, "Madam Hooch had us shake hands, and you gave me this look."

"What look?"

"A look like nothing had changed. We were right back to where we started, when we hated each other. And I couldn't stop thinking—I'm relieved things are different now." Draco stepped closer to Harry, forcing him to back up against the locker.

Harry's mind was racing, and he tried to think of a witty retort. "Oh, yeah? So you don't just want a consolation prize for me beating you today?"

"Mhm." There was a soft clang on the metal locker as Draco placed his hand above Harry's head.

Harry's breath came up short. "Aren't you worried someone will come in?"

"I'm excellent at Memory Charms."

"Okay. Let me just—Muffliato."

Harry watched Draco's lips part before he closed his eyes and accepted the kiss, which was at once very different from the others. They both wanted it more than before, and were still running on adrenaline from the Quidditch match.

Once there was a long enough pause between kisses, Harry said, "I much prefer this."

Draco pushed him closer against the lockers so his lips brushed against Harry's ear. "I do, too." He kissed Harry's neck, turning Harry's other senses into static.

". . . if he wants the party somewhere else, make it more exclusive."

Harry and Draco cursed at the same time—different words—and scrambled to find an appropriate place to hide before the door opened.

"I warned my team not to threaten or attack you," said Draco, now several steps away from Harry.

"Er, everything all right, Harry?" Jimmy Peakes eyed Draco with suspicion.

"Yes. Look, I'll catch up with you two in a moment," said Harry, "we're almost done here."

Peakes and Ritchie Coote glanced at each other, glared at Draco, and left. As soon as the door closed, Harry sighed, trying to slow the quick pace of his heart. "I should go."

"Right, of course."

Harry touched Draco's cheek and kissed him quickly. "We'll pick this up later, okay?"

"Sure." If there was a note of disappointment in Draco's voice, Harry couldn't tell.